Half-Miracles (And A Beer Owed)
by Wolfy of the Winds
Summary: That last lightning bolt did more than just illuminate the water. Post InFAMOUS 2 ending, spoilers for the game.
1. Chapter 1

I had just said my goodbye to him, alone and away from the celebrations. I couldn't quite stand it – couldn't party yet. Maybe later. I wanted to spend some time in the bay, memorize where he went, write it down and hide it. A sort of peaceful place to go when times got rough – because hell, if being Cole's brother didn't teach me that times will _always _get rough – away from the rest of the world. The rest of the humans. There were very few that had known a Conduit well, and those who had certainly hadn't known them like I knew Cole. So while everyone else was cheering – hell, I was cheering too; the plague had been _bad _– I was also pissed that it had taken his death to save the sick.

He'd had every chance to take his power and twist it to his uses. He could've been king of whatever the hell he wanted to be, and he hadn't. He could've ruled people in terror and fear and he hadn't. He could've left me behind to die when I deserved it – damn do I regret screwing him over – and he hadn't. He was a good guy, a great one, a hero.

And he was gone.

"I'm sure gonna miss you."

It was a quiet statement, made quieter by the fact that it followed a soft, "I love you, brother." I pushed the stone behemoth of a coffin off of the boat, and watched it float for a moment, and then begin to sink. Before it was covered by water, though, a lightning bolt struck outta nowhere. No storm, just clouds, and this first bolt hit the coffin straight on. The lid cracked, the stone splitting down the length of it, and all I could do was watch. Lightning flashed across the water, far and near, and I thought that was it, the world's last goodbye to Cole. Louder and flashier than mine. But I guess what powers he used had the right to give him one last shock.

Or maybe two.

You see, another bolt of lightning flew down and hit the coffin almost dead-on. A little to the right, and a little up from the center, and that's where it flashed, blinding me even with my sunglasses on. If I were a religious man, I'd say it shot him in the heart by fate. As it stands, I don't really know.

So I'm standing there, rubbing at my eyes to get the afterglow out, and I go back to watching the shattered coffin sink. Except, well…Cole moved. It was probably just the water pulling him out of the stone resting place he'd been given, but I couldn't bet on that. Besides, I knew that water would kill him – maybe that was my twist of irony on it all. He'd died by being a hero, it was only fair to give him to the water to rest.

I dropped the lifeboat double-time, and jumped in – still a little weak from the plague – and started that motor up stat. Took it over to Cole and fished him out, rolling him over so he lay on his back. What can I say? I was desperate. I had seen him die, and I had carried his cooling body to the crowds of celebrating survivors. I was deluding myself into believing he could be alive.

But I'd seen crazier shit, right?

So I take him back to the boat and just chill out in the bay, afraid to check for a pulse and be proven wrong.

Didn't have to wait long.

He…made a sound. A groan, not unlike those he made waking up after absorbing another blast core. I jogged over and put my hand on his shoulder – god, it was _warm._

"Hey, brother. Looks like hell didn't want your ass." Not one of my best, but I wasn't really prepared for this, either.

"H-wha?" He rubbed at his head scrubbing a hand over his eyes, and finally looked up at me. He seemed unfocused for a second, and then everything snapped together in an instant. "Zeke?"

"The one and only, man."

"What are you –" he paused, scrutinizing me, and then frowned, eyes narrowing in frustration.

You see, he'd tried to check me for the plague. Figured that if he'd survived, then he'd failed and we were all doomed. Except he couldn't see that anymore.

That pulse he'd tried to send out never went.

He'd lost his powers.

The Conduits had all been killed, and while he hadn't lost the gene, he'd need another Ray Sphere to get his powers back. Which, being the man he was, he'd never ask for.

All the same, he'd lost a light in him – no pun intended. He told me it was like going into a powered-down zone. Thirsty, yet not quite. It was less of a thirst now, more of a hole. He knew what was missing. He felt it. Like he'd lost a limb the rest of us never had.

And sure, he was grateful to be alive. Hell, who wouldn't be? He'd get a hero's welcome back in New Marais, no doubt. But he couldn't be a hero anymore. No power to heal the wounded. No flight. No electricity to zap any bad guys in his way. He was just a regular guy now, like the rest of us. It took something out of him. Not pride, or superiority, but a belief that he could help, always.

It'll take some time to convince him that he's helped the world enough. It owes him a rest.

We can go back to watching old cowboy movies on the rooftops where we live. I can guarantee that he'll stay with me, out in the open, rather than move into some fancy home they give him as thanks for being a hero. For giving up everything for those who couldn't fight for themselves, who couldn't fight a sickness. He'd given up his life because he knew what it was like to lose everything. To lose those you loved for the sake of others. He'd rather die a hero than live a villain. And that said a lot about him.

At least the world rewarded him for that. He can have both. He can live a hero.

Besides, he owes me a beer for getting his ass out of Bertrand's trap.


	2. Chapter 2

Cole's quiet the whole trip back. He seems like he wants to say something, opening his mouth every couple of minutes, and ends up keeping silent. I don't have anything to say either. Maybe something about how I'm glad he's alive, or how I'm grateful he saved us. I can't imagine having to go against him, and I can't imagine him turning his back on the rest of us. I can't imagine how it felt to be betrayed by Kuo, but more than that, I can't imagine how guilty he must feel that he survived and they didn't.

At one point, I catch him holding his stomach, and I wonder if he's lost his immunity too. "Sea-sick?" I ask, looking over him as I guide the boat back to new Marais. He shakes his head, and I figure that's the end of that, because Cole has never been one to expose a weakness, but it's not.

"I…I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out. Like I was going to explode, but I couldn't." He looks up at me, and his blue eyes are veiled, and I can't tell what he's thinking. "I felt my powers being ripped out of me. Like when the Beast sucked out all my power, but _worse_. Like I'd been torn open and some bastard was tearing them out, bit by bit." He stops, and looks surprised that he's said that much.

He's done talking after that.

"Plague's gone, man," I say, just to break the silence, and to get his mind off of the RFI. Not the best subject-change, but good enough. "It worked. And you're a hero, by the way. From the Demon of Empire City to the Patron Saint of New Marais."

He snorts, and I'm glad for the sound. "They made me a _saint_? I'm probably the most un-saint-like saint anyone's ever seen."

"True, man, true. But they needed an excuse to hang a giant banner of your face on the cathedral. I wouldn't be surprised if they rename the city New MacGrath." I grin, and I don't mention the pier that I've spotted in the distance. The pier that is swarming with mourners. They're lighting candles in the water and throwing flower petals, grateful and sad at the same time. Happy, yet knowing the cost for their survival. None of them would trade their lives for his, and I wouldn't trade their survival over his life either. Because I know it would have ruined him. That act of selfishness would have destroyed whatever humanity Cole had in him, and I couldn't handle that. I would die for him any day, but not at the cost of him destroying himself.

Cole's shaking his head, calling me crazy, which, hey, I don't mind so much. Not when three hours ago he was dead.

"Look, brother, it's your fan club," I finally say as we're getting closer to the pier. He looks up from where he's leaning against the rail watching the throngs of people. The quiet is broken only by the rumbling of the motor as we slow down, and the throngs of people are quiet. A few of them are singing or humming quietly, because Cole's not just the guy-in-the-sky who saved them. A lot of them he'd personally plucked out of Militia hands. Some he saved from being mugged at gunpoint. And others he saved from a blast shard bomb. Almost all of the people here – and they made up most of the surviving city – had seen him up close, and had watched him save them.

He doesn't say anything or straighten up, he just watches over the rail at the people. They haven't seen him yet, and I'd give him a bigger entrance if everyone hadn't thought him dead. So I just pull up the boat without a word, and the people look at me, prepared to offer sympathies.

That never happens, because they see Cole an instant later. A hush falls over the previously-murmuring crowd, and everything is dead silent when I cut the engine. They're staring, and Cole's looking right back at them, so I decide to spare them all from an immortal quiet.

"So uh, it looks like this cat's got nine lives. Or at least two." Cole doesn't appreciate the metaphor – I think it's fitting, since he used to avoid water like the plague (except not _this _plague, since he was immune to it) – but at least it breaks the staring contest going on. It's a tie in Cole vs. New Marais Mourners.

Unlit candles fall into the water and the crowd breaks into and uproar of cheering. A small smile tugs at Cole's face, something gentle and not at all related to beating up Militia goons and Ice Men. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he glances over at me, an eyebrow quirked.

That's when a high keening wail slices through the crowd on the pier.

* * *

**A/N: **Drop a review on your way out, please! Tell me how it went, what you enjoyed, what you hated, that kind of thing! It helps in writing later chapters c: I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Sorry it took so long to get chapter 3 out, but here you go! Enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated. c:

[this may or may not be the end, I don't know as of yet. We'll see.]

* * *

The crowd on the dock parts like the red sea, and a woman moves forward. I'd hedge a bet that she's the one who wailed. There's a body in her arms, and the people who had been pushing at the edge of the rail had backed away, leaving a buffer between her and them. A wide, yawning space of five feet that seemed to make her smaller.

The body in her arms belonged to a kid.

I don't know what people know about the RFI, about what it did, about why this kid is dead. But Cole knows. And he takes it like a punch to the gut, staring at the kid that couldn't be older than ten, that had a whole life to look forward to, that doesn't anymore. A little boy with curly blond hair.

"You're Cole MacGrath, aren't you?" she cries out, desperate against the rail. Her voice is shredded, as if she's been mourning loud and long. Cole looks straight at her, taking in the body, and nods, just once. His shoulders are hunched, and he's tense, staring at her, a yawning chasm of water between them. "Then fix him!"

"I…" his voice is a quiet rasp, as if death had taken that from him too.

"You healed everyone else! Heal _him_!"

"He's dead."

The woman steps back, startled, and clutches the body tighter. "No, he's just sleeping, you can heal him!"

Cole looks away from her, finally, and starts to slowly unwrap the electrical tape on his fingers. The tape he had put to cover the burns from his early days as an awakened conduit. That he had then kept as a reminder. Each piece he unwrapped he dropped into the water; all save one. He moved to take it off, finger on the edge of the tape, and stopped. The last one remained on the ring finger of his right hand. A twist. In memory of Trish, of the life he couldn't have with her. In memory of his powers, and all the good he did with them. In memory of all those who died because of the Ray Sphere.

He doesn't seem to notice the meaning – or if he does, he hides it – but I do. I watch, just like the whole crowd watches, and the lady watches, mesmerized. I don't know what to say, I don't have the right words for this. I don't have any words for it.

It seems to take him forever, but he finally looks up, his hands wrapped around the railing of the boat. "Even if he wasn't dead, I still couldn't heal him." The crowd's murmurings fall silent, riveted to the hero brought back from the dead. Brought back smaller, if not in existence, then in presence. No sparks fell from his fingers, no electricity danced across the water.

"_Couldn't_?" The lady's hysterical now. Her hands grip the cold child in her hands, clawed tight against his small frame. "Of course you could! You're the Electric Man! You're the city's hero! I watched you heal the sick and wounded! You saved the city! What can't you do?"

"Heal your son." He says it with a sort of finality, and makes his point by hopping up onto the boat's rail and leaping up to the pier. A short distance, one he could always easily make, and yet he almost missed it. He caught the edge with his toe and used his weight to get himself onto the dock. It _looked _fluid, but I know it was a blunder. Luckily for both of us, the crowd didn't.

I tie up the boat, and climb my way onto the pier using a staircase. Trying to catch up to Cole is harder than it looks – while the crowd parts respectfully for him, few of them recognize me. I end up shoving my way through, and get a couple of "Leave him alone!"s for my trouble.

The only person to make a move toward Cole while he's there is the woman. She steps forward, holds out her son – because who else could it be? Not a random child she found in the street (New Marais had seen too many dead bodies for one child to faze anyone) – and pleads with him. As if seeing the boy up close will change his mind. As if it doesn't already pain him to the core that he can't do anything. As if telling her that his powers are gone will solve anything.

It would only make things worse, really. If she knew, if New Marais knew, they'd go into a panic. The figure they'd looked up to to keep the streets safe, the one that made them brave enough to take on the Militia, gone just like that?

Of course, they'll start to doubt him once gangs find their niches again, once crime starts up and he's not there to stop it. The secret can't stay kept, that's for sure. Of course, seeing Cole MacGrath in the subway station will ruin that image pretty fast too.

But better for him to decide the place and time to tell it, instead of having it forced from him. So he turns away from the woman, and walks slowly through the crowd. They're sympathetic, understanding, but no longer cheering. They don't know what's happened to him. All this crowd knows is that their hero died, and now he's back. They don't understand it, any more than they understood his powers. But they let him pass, and would rather give him the benefit of the doubt than turn on their hero so fast.

It was probably a returning-from-death thing, anyway.

I finally manage to catch up to him at the edge of the crowd, and he's got his head up, though his eyes are dull. Hiding his pain, and that's the Cole I know. "C'mon, brother. Let's get out of here." I clap a hand on his shoulder, just once, and stick my hands in my pockets. The crowd behind us disperses, their voices growing louder as the hush of a hero coming by ebbed and disappeared completely.

Cole says nothing for a while, and he jumps into the back of my truck on instinct. It takes him less than a second to vault right back out and take the regular human's shotgun seat. I don't say anything – figure it's better not to, and he does the same. Probably appreciates the lack of comment.

"Hey, you up for a beer or two?" I ask, as the engine grumbles to life – car maintenance was shunted off to the side when the plague and Conduits hit, and poor Bess isn't doing so well – and glance over. We've got to play an obstacle course with all the cars lying in the streets, though it's better here than it was in Empire.

"Sure. Rooftop, though?"

"Yeah. I'll just run in and grab some from the store. Trade the last of our charged-up batteries for 'em." And maybe that wasn't such a smart thing to say – I'd had him fill batteries to barter for food and beer through the quarantine, and in New Marais – but it was too late to take it back. I dropped the car off in front of the general store and went over to the bed, pulling out the heavy batteries and carrying one in each arm. The automatic doors jam, and I shove them open with my foot, walking in.

The guy behind the counter recognizes me, and shouts a greeting as I walk in. "How many beers can I get for these two?" I ask, dropping the batteries on the counter. "They're some of the last I got."

"Hmm." The value of those batteries – which had been able to feed us for days in the beginning – was fast dwindling, and I'd be happy to get a six-pack for them. "I'll give you two six-packs and a pound-bag of chips. Salsa too, if you can find any."

Maybe he recognized my face, or was grateful for all the batteries I'd given him instead of other traders earlier. "Thanks, man," I say, and go find the beers and chips and – score – super hot guacamole. Arms full of delicious food, I head back out and toss them through the open window at Cole. He catches them without looking, and is steadfastly ignoring the small scattering of civilians staring at him, trying to match this picture to the guy they'd seen flying through the sky on blue electric thrusters.

I hop into Bess and start up the engine – the crowd scatters, pressed onto the sidewalks, and we drive off.

"Guy gave me two six-packs for the batteries."

"Really?" Cole asks, surprise, checking out the beers – good, though slightly warm – and the chips. "Seems a bit generous."

"Yeah. Musta' recognized me." I shrug, and we pass the rest of the drive in silence.

"Hey, thanks for bringing me back," he finally says. I don't look over at him – I know when his words are meant to be taken as they're said – and shrug, knowing he's watching me.

"Least I could do, brother."


End file.
